


Homesick

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Homesickness, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Despite his life in Insomnia, Nyx would run home in a heartbeat.





	Homesick

“Do you miss it?”

After leaving Galahd, Nyx had prepared himself for these sorts of questions. He had steeled himself with single answers and stony looks to drive off the intrusion. He had expected, in part, for the question to come from all the sources he had been warned about— new recruits, new sources looking for a sound-bite to loop for the evening news, the nobility who would only acknowledge them when they needed to. He had prepared statements about how Insomnia was his home now, how Lucis had taken him in, how he had a new family among the Glaives… 

He had prepared all the answers with Libertus and Crowe over drinks. Platitudes and easy shut downs spat out over tasteless Lucian food and watered down drinks, scribbled down by Luche as they came. Ready to be cleaned up and delivered to the captain in the morning for approval. 

Nyx had been ready with the approved statements for years. 

“All the time.”

But he couldn’t lie to Noctis. Not while the Prince was sat on his bed with a box of old photos dug up from some dark corner of the small apartment. 

Not while he had just talked about the old experiments he used to do in the bar during the off hours and lulls, or when the adventurous regular asked for a surprise. He had just spent a good minute explaining how he had found a mix of spices at an artisan market across town that reminded him of home. 

“Would you go back?” Noctis was still fixated on the pictures he had pulled from the box, smiling at the faces he recognized among the many he didn’t. “If the war was over, I mean. Obviously.”

He would, Nyx knew. In a heartbeat. 

Somewhere in Galahd was his hometown— beaten and bruised, but he had to believe it was still standing. There were too many people there who had loved it to just let it disappear beneath the Imperial heel. There would be shells of buildings, and ruins— familiar places torn apart by the occupation— he could see it. He could imagine the places that would look like the other ruins outside of the Wall; the shattered remnants left in the wake of siege lines and dying industry. He recalled the red pulse of Nif lights and technology meant to keep the daemons at bay, the eerie shimmer of light that wavered across the towns and battlefields, and wondered if his hometown would be covered the same way. 

There were days he regretted ever leaving Galahd in the first place. 

Libertus had said he was too romantic: answering the summons of a foreign king promising them an end to a war. 

He had never wanted to be a knight in shining armour. 

“If the war was over?” He stalled his wording by measuring out the spices he wanted to use. He couldn’t remember the last time he had used the little measuring spoons Crowe had all but thrown at him a month after getting to the city. “Probably, little star.”

Noctis nodded his understanding at the non-answer. It was part of why he liked Noctis— there were no expectations or hidden messages with the Crown Prince of Lucis. At least not here, like this, with his hair still a mess from sleep and the blankets of that narrow bed pooled in his lap. Not here in the small apartment nestled out of sight in the warrens of the great city’s lower districts, where they refused titles but accepted nicknames. 

He had wondered more than once how Noctis would like Galahd. 

No one there had cared about titles and entitlements. At least not from what he had understood, tending to the bar that he was certain was a front for Libertus’ own dream of cooking. He already knew what Noctis would have taken for a favourite drink if he had been a regular. He had guessed right on their first date out away from the stuffy expectations of the Citadel, and kept a stash of the sweet, smooth cider in his fridge. 

Noctis still smiled at the first sip. As if he was surprised he enjoyed it. 

“Am I going to need to put on pants for this meal?”

Today, they may have done things a little out of order. 

Nyx grinned as he pretended to eye up Noctis’ state of undress on the bed. “Bare minimum, I think. There’s a gravy involved.”

He had supposed there was no real illusion of permanence put in place between them— no expectation beyond the next week, the next shared meal, the next order Nyx would receive to drag him out of the safety of the Wall. But it left a freedom Nyx was not used to when daydreaming about the ‘what ifs’ proposed by the regular rumblings of peace and foreign visitors. 

“If I went back to Galahd, little star,” Nyx poured the stirfry on to plates with little ceremony. The mashup of colour brought on more by the spices staining the rice he had used rather than any semblance of vegetables. He supposed he’d have to cook a proper meal for Noctis one day— something that would take planning and thought. “Would you come with me?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in that answer. No matter how impossible a thought, Nyx smiled at the response. “In a heartbeat. I want to see it. Definitely more than just pictures.”


End file.
